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Hanging on its Stalk

glistening petals, pearly skin
as white and rosy as a memory
of fairytales told to me long ago –
but somehow they don’t seem to be
the lasting objects of veneration
that I have sought, (that I came here to see);
they droop as if caught up
in some sad moment’s melancholy,
and from the silky petals fall
two pearly drops – signaling fatefully
the doom of yet another worshipped object;
the fate of each and every thing of beauty

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